


if it works

by arsenicjay



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Humor, Kissing Booths, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenicjay/pseuds/arsenicjay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Do you think that’s progress?” Akaashi asks. He can’t help the dubious note in his voice.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“They get so caught up in each other that they forget everyone else,” Kenma points out, without bothering to look up. Just continues tap tap tapping on his PSP. “Not that they realise.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I suppose not,” Akaashi says, after a moment. He glances over at Kenma. “This is turning out harder than we thought.” </em>
</p><p>There's an odd tension between Bokuto and Kuroo, one that everyone seems to be able to pick up on. Everyone of course, except for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it works

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renaissance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/gifts).



> This is my gift to memorde! I hope you enjoy it!! The original prompt was as follows: 
> 
> _bokuto and kuroo have this unique relationship built on foundations of mutual respect and a great deal of silliness. i’d like to see this explored in the most ridiculous getting-together fic possible. rope in as many of their friends as you like, and make it ludicrous without being implausible. (i’d rather that the silliness and absurdity didn’t stem from a “bro jokes” angle—i’d like this full romo, if you please.)_

"This better be worth it," Kuroo grumbles, cursing under his breath when as the wires slip again.

"I'll buy you lunch for a _week_ ," Bokuto says fervently.

Kuroo frowns. “We don’t even go to the same school. How are you gonna do that?”

“I’ll get Kenma to buy you lunch for a week!”

Craning his neck out from under the counter, Kuroo levels a disbelieving look at Bokuto as he points out, “If you manage to do that, _I’ll_ buy you lunch for a week.”

“That’s like, a lunch circle,” Bokuto muses, flopping back over onto the gymnasium stage to stare at the ceiling. “I buy you lunch, and you buy me lunch, woah  _dude_ – that’s free lunch for both of us.”

A pause. “Then we might as well buy our own lunch.”

This time Bokuto frowns, before doubtfully conceding, “Yeah, maybe.”

They lapse into silence then, a few moments of quiet broken only by Kuroo’s hum of irritation when he picks up a connecting wire that he’d forgotten about and tries to figure out where it should plug into. Then suddenly, Bokuto sits up, hands raised up in the air in triumph and his face bright with what seemed to be an epiphany of life-changing magnitude.

“Dude, I’ve got it. I’ll get  _Akaashi_ to get Kenma to buy you lunch! For a week!” Bokuto enthuses, just as Kuroo crows, “Aw yes, sweet success–”

A second later, the fairy lights hanging up around Bokuto’s stall crackle to life. Tiny pinpoints of light flicker once, twice, before settling into a steady glow across the large banner reading:

_KISSING BOOTH._

Bokuto whistles in appreciation, hopping off of the stage to peer at the stall from the front. “You’re a life-saver, man,” he says, throwing up his arms in glee. “Looks  _awesome_. Totally bangin’.”

“Yup,” Kuroo agrees. “And you owe me those lunches now.” He strides around the stall to join Bokuto, and nods approvingly at the sight of his handy work. Then nudges Bokuto’s side, looking thoughtful. “Hey, what if I could get Kenma to get Akaashi to buy you lunch too?”

Bokuto blinks at him, perking up for a split second before he shakes his head regretfully. “Nah, Akaashi already buys me lunch sometimes. Usually when I forget mine. He said I get grumpy when I’m hungry, or something.”

“Huh.” Kuroo’s bottom lip juts out as he thinks, arms crossing over his chest. “How about you just get me lunch now then?”

“Yeah?” Bokuto says slowly. Then repeats, with more enthusiasm, “Yeah! Let’s go– think I saw a takoyaki stall outside, and Manami said she was gonna sell hotdogs on the other side of school too– ”

As they both leave the gymnasium, their voices fade into the distance and Akaashi is left sitting on the stage with Kenma, who still occasionally taps on his PSP, frowning in concentration. Akaashi is really starting to feel rather distinctly ignored at this point.

“Do you think that’s progress?” Akaashi asks. He can’t help the dubious note in his voice.

“They get so caught up in each other that they forget everyone else,” Kenma points out, without bothering to look up, just continues  _tap tap tapping_ on his PSP. “Not that they realise.”

“I suppose not,” Akaashi says, after a moment. He glances over at Kenma. “This is turning out harder than we thought.”

Kenma spares him a look, one eyebrow raised as if to say _what did you expect,_ before hurriedly turning back to his game. Akaashi sighs.

Definitely harder than they’d thought.

––-

Just a few hours prior had seen Kenma resting on the benches along the side of Nekoma’s gymnasium. Saturday morning practice was rounding up to a finish, and he'd managed to get himself switched off court a little earlier. Small mercies, he thinks; his fingers are itching to get back to the newest copy of Monster Hunter.

"Where are you heading off to now?" Yaku asks, coming up from across the court, as he towels off the sweat from his hair.

Kenma resists the urge to doublecheck that Yaku isn't talking to someone else in close proximity. "Home, probably- " he starts to say, when another voice suddenly jumps in.

"Hey. Let's go to Fukurodani."

The suggestion makes Kenma blink, surprised more by the non sequitur than Kuroo's abrupt appearance at his side. He's well aware that Kuroo can tread quietly when he wants to. Why the sudden suggestion for Fukurodani, though, he's not quite sure.

"They have their Summer Fair today," Kuroo says, when he notices Kenma's bemused expression. "Bokuto told me that the volleyball club is setting up some special stalls."

For some bizarre reason, Kuroo punctuates that last statement with a wriggle of his eyebrows. Kenma stares.

"We should go show some moral support," Kuroo goes on, raising his voice. "Might be a good chance to scope out our rivals, anyway."

"But I want to go home and play Monster Hunter," Kenma mutters quietly. A tiny part of him would like to point out that if Fukurodani is holding a Summer Fair, the chances of there being anything volleyball related to even scope out in the first place is probably exceedingly low.

“C’mon. Bokuto gave me a special invite, you know,” Kuroo says, one hand on his hip. “Wouldn’t wanna disappoint, right? You know how Bokuto gets when he’s disappointed.”

“It’s a fair, so entrance would be free.” Kenma frowns. “There’s no such thing as a special invite–”

But out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yaku throw Kai a knowing glance and Kenma pauses. He squints a little, scrutinising Kuroo as he calls out and waves the rest of the team over. There's an odd tone of determination in Kuroo's voice when he announces the spontaneous trip out to Fukurodani's school grounds. Anticipatory, maybe. Excited, at a stretch. Almost as if Kuroo might actually be looking forward to–

Hmm. Not quite about volleyball then.

Well in retrospect, Kuroo has been in a surprisingly good mood throughout this practice session. Not once has he prodded Kenma into straightening up on court. No mention when Kenma had deliberately missed that block in the last quarter either. Kuroo hasn't even yelled at Lev this practice, despite the younger boy being particularly excitable today; at one point, he'd crashed into the net, in an attempt at spiking a toss Kenma had sent to Kai. Though, speaking of–

"Fukurodani? You wanna to go Fukurodani? I've never been before, let's go!" Lev bursts in, loud and overenthusiastic as usual. "They're an elite school, aren't they? Bet they have loads of–"

"–girls," Yamamoto says, in a strangled voice. "Fukurodani has female managers, right? There's probably heaps of chicks–"

Lev brightens, quipping, “Or maybe the captain just wants to see–”

"Both of you," Yaku interrupts sternly. In a swift motion, he has both Lev and Yamamoto's ears twisted in his hands. "That's not why we'd be going. Though a show of moral support sounds good, and we're quite close anyway– "

Kuroo spins around, grinning at Kenma. "Looks like we're going."

There’s no escaping the pleased light in Kuroo’s eyes, and Kenma stifles his sigh. With luck, he’ll be able to grab a few hours alone to play through Monster Hunter. Maybe if he stays close to Akaashi.

When they get to the clubroom, Kenma changes quickly before hurrying outside, his PSP already grasped in one hand and eager to play. Though after a second thought, he tugs his phone out of his bag, tapping rapidly before slotting it into his pocket.

_hi, it’s kenma. nekoma is coming to fukurodani._

_kuro is up to something. i think. um, not sure. sorry._

–--

Akaashi still isn’t entirely sure how Bokuto managed to convince the school staff to let the Fukurodani volleyball team run a kissing booth at this year’s Summer Fair, but Bokuto Koutarou works in mysterious ways, it seems.

Or just particularly devious ones, Akaashi amends, when he sees Bokuto try to sneak a few extra coins into his own donation jar.

“Bokuto-san,” he warns, and the tone is enough to have Bokuto retrieving the coins, grumbling under his breath.

The Summer Fair had opened a couple of hours ago, with the gymnasium rapidly filling out to full capacity as parents and students alike filtered in through the doors. Kuroo and Kenma had wandered off at this point (which is to say, Kuroo had poked Kenma off the stage and out the door, insisting he should get some fresh air), to explore the rest of Fukurodani’s grounds. It’s not often that Fukurodani Academy is open to the public; Akaashi supposes it must be something of a novelty to outsiders of the school.

The kissing booth is turning out to be quite an attraction too. Akaashi watches as a girl approaches Bokuto’s stall. Almost immediately, Bokuto perks up, grinning widely as he greets her.

Despite his oversized ego, Bokuto seems to be doing fairly well with this entire affair. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that Bokuto is actually quite popular. He manages to drag in the mischievous girls who giggle loudly before sidling up for a chaste kiss, as easily as the shy ones who dart curious glances before his sunny smile finally urges them forward for a peck on the cheek. They even get a few guys casually sliding over their one hundred yen coins, all confidence and swagger. Akaashi raises an eyebrow at the entourage of cackling peers when Bokuto smacks a particularly wet kiss on one red-faced student, and then pulls back with a smug grin, looking entirely unfazed.

In the stall to Bokuto’s left, Konoha is raking in his own small fortune in one hundred yen coins, looking absolutely smug; on the other side, Sarukui fidgets nervously, an expression of faint alarm crossing over his face when another girl sidles up to his stall.

Still seated on the stage, Akaashi checks his watch. Nearly 2:45P.M. Might be time to close the stall for a while, give Bokuto and the rest of them a break.

When he sets down the temporary closed sign, Bokuto lets out a whoop. It’s easy to see why; Akaashi turns around to see Bokuto cradling his donation jar close, grinning smugly at Konoha.

“I’m definitely more popular than you, man,” Bokuto crows. “Listen to this,” he adds, shaking the jar. The coins rattle loudly, and Bokuto closes his eyes as if savouring the sound, grinning widely.

Konoha, at least, has the grace to simply roll his eyes. Though he does pull a face just before Bokuto opens his eyes again, looking as if he’d just realised something.

“Oi, where’d Kuroo go?” Bokuto sets his jar back down on the tabletop of the stall, glancing around with a frown. “I thought he’d wait around or something.”

“What, for a turn at your kissing booth?” Konoha asks swiftly.

There’s a sly tone to Konoha’s voice, teasing at best but Bokuto jolts a little, folding his arms defensively. There’s a faint pinkness to his ears, even as he rapidly shakes his head. “What? Nah, man. I just– nothing was open when we went to find food, so I still owe him something. Because, honour and… stuff.”

Konoha coughs, something that sounds suspiciously like  _free kiss_ , but Akaashi sends him a sharp glare and the cough turns into a whistle.

“Kuroo-san went outside with Kenma,” Akaashi tells Bokuto. “If you want to find them, you’re free for forty-five minutes–”

But Bokuto has already leapt over the edge of his stall before Akaashi manages to finish his sentence, dodging through the crowd in the gymnasium with a loud  _on my way!_

“I still reckon it’s a bit of a hopeless case,” Konoha remarks, once Bokuto is out of sight. “You know how our captain is. We should probably go after him. Wanna place bets, Sarukui? Oi, Sarukui?”

At the radio silence, Akaashi and Konoha twist around, staring at furthest stall. There’s an older girl walking away from it, a pretty third year that Akaashi recognises from Sarukui’s own class, looking rather pleased with herself.

Sarukui is bright red where he stands, one hand touching his lips. “She wouldn’t let go!” he protests mildly, just as Konoha grins and wolf-whistles, “Dude, she might actually like you.”

Akaashi shakes his head. This is far too much romance for him.

––-

“Captain,” says a familiar voice in greeting.

Kenma glances up from his PSP. So far, he’s managed to both walk and play at the same time, half consciously following Kuroo’s presence as a guide through the pushing crowds. The day is humid, sticky and the air feels even thicker with the throng of people on Fukurodani’s grounds. But Kai looks as calm and composed as ever as he comes up to them, with a few gift bags in hand.

“Sup, did you buy stuff?” Kuroo asks, reaching over to peer into the bags. “Probably have a couple of interesting things here, huh?”

“A few trinkets,” Kai agrees.

In an abrupt motion, Kai manages to catch Kuroo’s reaching hand in his own, clasping it briefly before letting go and leaving Kuroo too startled to react. Half a beat later, Kuroo opens his hand and stares down at the coins that had been pressed into his palm. His brow furrows, clearly confused. “Y’know, if you want me to get you something, you could just. Go get it yourself,” he says, slowly. “What’s this for?”

But the question doesn’t seem to get him more than a slight smile from Kai, who waves as he drifts away, distracted by the jewellery stall a couple of metres down.

“What is this? Spare change?” Kuroo mutters. Still, he pockets the coins with a shrug. “Free money,” he tells Kenma, grinning slightly.

As they head down Fukurodani’s main walkway Kuroo nudges Kenma at odd intervals, pointing out the oddities in the stalls lined along the path. There’s not much of interest here, at least not to Kenma. His game is far more absorbing that he’d first thought, and he chews on the inside of his cheek as he tackles the next monster. Kuroo, on the other hand, seems quite enamoured. At one point, he pokes Kenma in the ribs, and lifts up a scarf with a fluffy owl motif at either end from a nearby stall. “Reckon Bokuto’d like this?” he asks, laughing.

They bump into Yamamoto several minutes later. “Yo, Yamamoto–” Kuroo starts, but Yamamoto doesn’t pay attention to him. Instead, he glances around suspiciously before shoving a couple of one hundred yen coins into Kenma’s startled hands. Kenma automatically tries to catch the money, fumbling his PSP with an accompanying drop of his heart as it slips out of his hands.

But Kuroo catches it with a deft snatch out of the air. “Hey, careful,” he warns, but Yamamoto isn’t listening, just calls back “Sorry! Good luck, Kuroo-san!” as he vanishes into the crowd.

Kenma gingerly deposits the coins in Kuroo’s hands, who frowns, clearly confused by the entire turn of events.

Dusting off his PSP, Kenma is starting to suspect that he’s got a reasonable idea of what the Nekoma team are up to. He quietly tosses up between pretending to be oblivious, or extricating himself before things get too messy.

“Kuroo-senpai!”

The next shout has Kenma’s stomach sinking a little, as he realises it’s too late to dodge the inevitable. True enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot Lev hurrying over to them with Yaku in tow. Unfortunately Lev doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body; he grabs Kuroo’s hands and dumps a pile of coins in them. Couple of one hundred yen, several ten yen, and more than a few one yen coins.

“Buy yourself something nice, senpai. Something  _nice_ ,” Lev tells him cheerfully with an exaggerated wink, before Yaku hurriedly drags him away with an apologetic wince. “That was clever, right, Yaku-senpai? Right–” he continues, chattering excitedly.

“ _Lev_ , for once in your life–”

There’s a brief scuffle, then Lev’s voice is muffled through the hand clamped squarely over his mouth as Yaku pulls him away, yelling apologies behind him. Kuroo stares after them, and Kenma determinedly keeps his eyes trained on his PSP. Looks like he’s stuck with  _pretending to be oblivious_ , Kenma thinks glumly.

“Oi Kenma,” Kuroo says, still frowning. He flicks a coin into the air and catches it, before examining it a little closer. “Everyone’s been giving me coins. What’s up with that?”

Kenma barely spares him a glance. “Maybe they think you’re poor.”

“Just because we’re at Fukurodani–” Kuroo snorts, shaking his head. “They’re probably just trying to get rid of their spare change. It’s not like I need to buy anything here anyway. Bokuto owes me lunch, he can pay.”

“I don’t think it’s charity so much as pity,” Kenma mutters under his breath. He bites his tongue immediately after; that remark might be a little too pointed. If possible, he’d really like to not be the one who has to explain things to Kuroo. His head aches, just thinking about it.

Lucky for him though, Kuroo is still distracted, and faintly amused. “What?” he asks, squinting at the coin. “Speak up, I didn’t hear you.”

Kenma shakes his head in relief. “Nothing,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

–--

After a little convincing (which consisted of Konoha insisting they go find Bokuto and place bets in real-time), Akaashi ends up roaming the Fukurodani school grounds, searching for a familiar tuft of white-streaked hair. Sarukui had gone off in the other direction to join Komi and Washio, who were both caught up with their duties as student representatives. It takes Konoha and Akaashi a good ten minutes to find any sign of Bokuto, longer than Akaashi thinks should be reasonable for someone who sticks out of a crowd like a particularly noisy, sore thumb.

“Yo, I think I saw him,” Konoha calls, from up on top of the fountain ledge. He’s peering across the sea of people, shielding his eyes despite the darkening cloud cover gradually taking over the midday sky. He points vaguely in the direction of the food stalls. “That way, I reckon.”

They spot Kenma before they see any hint of Bokuto and Kuroo; Nekoma’s setter sits alone, under one of the large maples set in the gravel along the walkway. He’s still remarkably focused on his game, despite the louder atmosphere here, abuzz with the crackle and sizzle of food being cooked.

“Kenma-kun,” Akaashi greets, and Kenma looks up at him briefly, nodding in acknowledgement before turning back to the screen.

“Kuro and Bokuto-san are getting food,” Kenma says, without any prompting. He pauses. “They were very excited.”

“No surprises there,” Konoha snorts. He takes a deep inhale, humming appreciatively. “Man, it smells great here. Alright, I’m gonna find food. Laters.”

Only a few minutes after Konoha has left, Kuroo turns up, holding a boat of takoyaki in either hand. “Yo Akaashi. Keeping Kenma company?” he asks, grinning, handing Kenma one boat. “Got Bokuto to buy this for me. You want some?”

The scent of freshly cooked takoyaki wafts to Akaashi, and his stomach grumbles a little but he shakes his head. He’s just a little too wary to accept Kuroo’s offer on good faith. There’s just something about the perpetual gleam in Kuroo’s eyes, as though he knows and sees too much, and finds that little bit of extra amusement with the world. It’s an odd combination to put next to someone like Bokuto, Akaashi realises, even if it works to rather interesting outcomes (namely, awful pranks and wayward machinations). Even so, there’s something a little different about Kuroo when Bokuto is around; something a little more carefree, where Kuroo’s cheshire grin occasionally slips into something a little more genuine. Softer, perhaps.

It’s a curious thought, but Akaashi doesn’t get a chance to pursue it any further when he hears the distant yell,

“Hey! Akaashi, look what I got!”

Bokuto comes jogging up from behind Kuroo, holding out several white paper bags, already starting to turn translucent with the greasy goods inside. “Here, have these,” Bokuto says, thrusting the paper bags in Akaashi’s direction. “My treat as your captain and senpai! But also ‘cause I’m doing awesome with the kissing booth. I can use some of that money for this, right?”

Kuroo snorts, popping a cooling takoyaki ball in his mouth. “Bokuto-senpai. Kinda sounds strange doesn’t it?”

“What? It suits me!” Bokuto protests as he turns around to glare at Kuroo, shouldering him lightly.

Akaashi barely manages to catch the paper bags before they drop to the ground, all but forgotten as Bokuto needles Kuroo, arguing loudly. As usual, he thinks with a faint sigh. He glances over at Kenma, still sitting against the trunk of the maple tree, who seems perfectly happy to have been conveniently ignored again.

“Senpais are cool, dude,” Kuroo points out, munching on another takoyaki ball.

Bokuto squints, picking up the backhanded insult with a frown. He hooks an arm over Kuroo’s shoulder, leaning in. “Oi. Are you saying I’m not cool?”

“Cool but not senpai-cool, you know?” Kuroo says, sounding unperturbed, voice muffled as he chews. “Volleyball cool maybe?” he ponders, suddenly sounding thoughtful, just as Bokuto blinks and says,

“Hey you’ve got sauce–”

Akaashi watches in faint disbelief as Bokuto tugs Kuroo closer, and carefully swipes a thumb across the corner of Kuroo’s mouth, where a smudge of the takoyaki sauce had clung.

Then he continues arguing, as if nothing had happened.

Somewhere to the left, Akaashi hears a faint, _“Holy shit, man, as if you– ouch!”_ that sounds suspiciously like Konoha walking into a tree.

Meanwhile, Bokuto is pointing out the merits of being cool in volleyball – being top five in the country has got to count for something, he complains, pulling a face. Kuroo’s obvious reply is that top three in the country would be better, and he grins when Bokuto flushes in indignation. Just as Bokuto takes a deep breath, no doubt ready to argue again, Kuroo pops the last takoyaki ball in Bokuto’s open mouth. True to form, Bokuto doesn’t even flinch; he furiously chews to clear his mouth, while Kuroo smiles for all of the three seconds it renders Bokuto speechless, before he steamrolls forward in another pitched argument.

Even Kenma coughs very lightly at this point. Konoha pokes Akaashi in the ribs and hisses in a strangled voice, “Hey, did you see that, how is it not  _obvious_ to them already–”

Akaashi wordlessly offers Konoha one of the abandoned white paper bags. He had peeked inside earlier, only to find that Bokuto that bought yakitori. Three bags of yakitori. He’s not sure why he expected anything else from Bokuto, really.

Actually, he’s not sure what he expects from either of them. It’d be a lot easier if they could get themselves together. Literally. Akaashi resists the urge to rub his eyes, and stares up into the sky instead. But all he sees are grey clouds - an accurate reflection of his current situation, Akaashi thinks with a touch of melodrama.

Dark grey clouds, to be precise.

Akaashi blinks in surprise when a fat drop of rain plops onto his cheek. “I think we should head back inside,” he starts to say, glancing around.

Then the humid, sticky atmosphere breaks, the heavens open up and rain starts to pour in earnest.

–--

It’s a mad dash to get back to the gymnasium; even Kenma breaks into a light jog as he fretfully shields his PSP with his jacket.

Fukurodani team retreats to the main gymnasium with the Nekoma members still at the Fair. They occupy the stage area now, just behind the kissing booths which are still unmanned. The crowds build up, damp and shivering, until the school staff decide to open up the third and fourth gymnasium. Relocation for the outer stalls is a lengthy process, hampered by the downpour of rain. In several places, little puddles of water are already stretching across the hardwood floor, and the crowds gradually migrate to avoid them.

It’s right about then that they discover a leak in the ceiling.

“Y’know, I thought Fukurodani would have a better budget than this,” Kuroo remarks, frowning as he holds a hand out and gazes upward. A water drop splashes onto his palm.

Kenma’s managed to find himself a safe spot on the stage, out of reach from any wayward water drops. The gymnasium is a little emptier, with some of the crowd having left Fukurodani to head home early, but there’s still a fair number. They’ll be wanting to put something under the leak, Kenma thinks to himself.

“We need buckets!” Bokuto announces. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, near the edge of the stage. Kenma gets the feeling that Bokuto is trying to resist the temptation of stomping in one of the growing puddles; there’s a twitch in Bokuto’s knee that gives it away.

Kuroo looks skeptical. “Do you even have buckets just lying around? Some sort of plastic container will probably do–”

“There’s a couple of buckets in the old storage shed,” Komi pipes up from the stage, where he sits with the other third years. Both he and Washio had come to join the rest of the Fukurodani team once the rain started; there was no point leading tours around the school grounds for the parents if it were raining, after all. “It’s the one with the old gymnastic equipment, round the back of the building,” he adds, fishing out a set of keys from his lanyard and tossing them at Bokuto.

Bokuto grins, evidently delighted. “I’ll go grab them!” he volunteers, in a loud voice. And before anyone can say otherwise, he’s already out of the wide gymnasium doors and into the rain.

Akaashi glances around, looking oddly reluctant. “Someone should probably go after–”

“I’ll go,” Kuroo says, clearly amused. He jogs after Bokuto, soon disappearing around the corner.

There’s a beat of silence, then everyone seems to share a collective sigh of relief. Their teams fall back into chatter. Konoha recounts the takoyaki sauce incident to the rest of the Fukurodani and Nekoma third years, before grabbing hold of a tired-looking Akaashi and demanding he verify the sappy details. With luck, Kenma thinks might be able to pass by unnoticed and he wipes the screen of his PSP, peering down at it. No damage. Probably.

“Kenma-san!” calls a familiar voice, and Kenma only has a few scant seconds to prepare himself before Lev is grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, urgently asking, “Did Kuroo-senpai use the money? Did he? I have to know, that was the last of my pocket money–”

It takes a few, frantic minutes of Kenma trying to pry Lev off before Yaku notices and comes to his rescue. Kenma shoots him a grateful look, shuddering slightly before he pulls out his game again.

However, it takes a good fifteen minutes before someone (well,  _Lev_ again) starts to wonder what’s taking Bokuto and Kuroo so long.

Then Komi coughs, hiding an alarmingly smug grin, and Akaashi gets a strange, pinched expression on his face as he glances between a snickering Konoha and grinning Komi. The entire affair strikes Kenma as being rather conniving.

All Kenma overhears are small snippets, ranging from Komi’s insistent, “–every little bit helps,” to Konoha’s muffled, _“–locked in a storage room, dude that’s genius,”_ and finally, Akaashi’s exasperated, “–now _I_ have to get them out.” It’s relatively easy for Kenma to start painting the picture together.

It’s easier still when Bokuto and Kuroo abruptly turn up at the gymnasium entrance with streaks of mud across their shirts and faces, wearing rather sheepish expressions.

Bokuto holds up a bucket, tries to smile. “Got ‘em,” he says weakly.

–--

Of course, Akaashi thinks grimly, as he turns the key to the change rooms.

Of course the door to the storage shed would unlock perfectly fine from the outside. Of course the door to the storage shed had a tendency to refuse to open from the inside, and jam at any further attempts of force.

And of course Komi didn’t see fit to mention it until after Bokuto and Kuroo had gone off, disappearing into the rain. In fact, Akaashi thinks Komi might actually be rather pleased with himself. That’s what he assumes from the smug smile and high fives Komi had promptly traded with Konoha, upon Bokuto and Kuroo’s rather damp reappearance. He’s really going to have to have a word with them. Being vice-captain has to lend him at least some modicum of authority, if not just key-minding duty. There had been a unanimous vote that Bokuto and Kuroo weren’t to be trusted with rooms that could be locked; hence, Akaashi’s unfortunate role as the pair’s minder while they changed.

Behind him, Bokuto and Kuroo drip small, sad puddles onto the floor, looking decidedly worse for wear. Apparently they had come to the conclusion that the next best option for escape, after the door had proved locked, was to try climbing out of the window. With the buckets. Despite having fully functioning phones in their pockets.

Sometimes, Akaashi wonders how either of them was made captain. He really does.

“–I thought you were manning the door, dude,” Bokuto grumbles, obviously sullen.

“Hey, you told me to turn on the lights, not watch the door–”

“Can’t even open one measly door–”

There’s the sound of a brief scuffle behind Akaashi, and he resists the urge to turn around. He’s starting to realise it’s better not to get involved in these things to begin with.

“You tried to kick the door down, how is that any better?” Kuroo sounds incredulous, but Bokuto just scoffs, raises one leg off the ground and gestures,

“Have you seen my legs, bro? Where do you think I get all that jumping power from, huh?”

Kuroo seems to decide that the best way to reply is to simply shove Bokuto. It works, mostly, and Bokuto shuts up with another incoherent grumble. Akaashi opens the door and they all troop in. He wisely lets the other two walk past him, settling himself on the bench along the far wall instead.

Inside, Bokuto heads straight towards his locker, yanking it open. It’s a lucky thing that they had left their practice clothes in the changerooms from the earlier practice today, Akaashi thinks. And lucky that Bokuto’s mother knows better than to send Bokuto to school with only one uniform set.

“Here,” Bokuto says, throwing the spare towel at Kuroo without a second glance, as he rummages through his duffel bag. “You can borrow my spare shirt, I’ll just wear my volleyball uniform,” he says, as he turns back to Kuroo. Then he stops, apparently startled out of his sullen mood as he says, in a slightly awed voice, “Dude, your hair.”

Kuroo grimaces, and finishes towelling off his hair. Hs fringe falls in damp strands across his face; the rest of it stands up wildly, whole tufts knocked askew, as though he’d come out of a whirlwind. “Yeah, I know. It’ll probably dry even worse actually. Your hair’s gone down though.”

Running a hand through his own hair, Bokuto pulls a sad face. “I need gel to keep this up. Don’t have any on me.”

A brief pause, as Kuroo glances over Bokuto. “Looks fine,” he says,as he drops the towel on Bokuto’s head.

Bokuto peers at him from under the cloth, looking uncertain. He fishes out a wrinkled article of clothing from his bag and lobs it at Kuroo, before changing into his own volleyball uniform as he says, “Really? It’s kinda flat. Makes me feel flat, y’know?”

“It’s just different. Not bad. Is this dirty?” Kuroo asks, dubious, holding out the shirt to scrutinise.

“Nope. Just gets squashed in my bag cause I never use it.”

One smooth motion has Kuroo shrugging off his own damp shirt, shoving it into a plastic bag, before he pulls on Bokuto’s dry one. The size is a little large on Kuroo and hangs off his leaner frame. Kuroo plucks at it, frowning and Bokuto reaches out to squeeze his bicep. “You should probably bulk up or something. So you can open doors,” he says sympathetically, and Kuroo’s frown deepens.

“Just because I’m not–”

“Dude, wait, I think I have– ” Bokuto interrupts him, sounding inspired. He turns around again, digs through his bag and yanks out a strip of gold and black, holding it up triumphantly.

The satisfaction in Bokuto’s voice pulls Akaashi out of his doze, where he’d been nodding off. Focusing on the cloth in Bokuto’s hand, Akaashi recognises it immediately; it’s the Fukurodani Academy tie, same as the one around his own neck.

“Here, put this on too, it’s my spare one,” Bokuto urges, thrusting the tie toward Kuroo. “You can’t lose it though, my mother would kill me.”

Kuroo takes it slowly, tugs it around his neck and loops the knot. “Honorary Fukurodani student, huh?” he says, obviously amused as he straightens the tie into place.

Taking a step back, Bokuto crosses his arms and casts an appraising glance over Kuroo, gaze travelling down the length of Kuroo’s chest, before trailing back up to his face. There’s an odd expression growing on Bokuto’s face, a slight furrow to his brow.

“What?” Kuroo asks, after a moment of silence. He sounds a little self-conscious.

Bokuto hums vaguely. He cocks his head a little, presses his lips together. “It kinda looks good on you, bro,” he finally admits, albeit a little gruffly.

For once, there’s no cheerful inflection to Bokuto’s voice. No tease. Bokuto sounds more perplexed than anything, a strange departure from his usual brand of overconfidence.

Even Kuroo seems a little taken aback. “Guess this is what I’d look like if I went to Fukurodani,” he says, touching the tip of the gold and black tie resting against his chest. “How weird is that?”

The sudden proposition seems to be amusing enough to clear the mood, fractionally. Bokuto grins at Kuroo, punching his shoulder. “We would’ve been unstoppable, man.” There’s a clear note of sincerity to his voice this time, enough to have Kuroo offering him a small grin in return. “The best middle-blocker and spiker combo around. Coulda taken Tokyo by storm.”

“Opportunities missed, huh,” Kuroo remarks wryly. He fingers the hem of the shirt one last time, before stretching up to tuck the edge into his pants.

––-

“Hey, Akaashi.”

Akaashi makes a noncommittal noise, not even bothering to glance up from his physics textbook. The stalls from Fukurodani’s wider grounds had finally been relocated inside, the buckets distributed across various places in the gymnasium and the Summer Fair was tentatively proceeding. The afternoon rush is predictably slower, and Akaashi has taken to catching up on schoolwork. Apparently Bokuto is taking the brief lull in activity at the kissing booth to start up some small talk, presumably to complain about how Konoha is earning more than he is, or how he didn’t manage to find Manami’s hot dog stall while it was still open–

“Is it just me.” There’s a pause, a slight cough. “Or is Kuroo kinda, y’know, attractive?”

 _That_ makes Akaashi glance up sharply. He finds Bokuto leaning over the edge of his stall, with a hand on his chin, stroking absently as he stares across the gymnasium. Akaashi follows his line of sight, and there’s Kuroo standing near the doors, surrounded by a gaggle of girls Akaashi recognises from the class below. Now clad in Fukurodani’s uniform, Kuroo seems to be earning himself some friendly attention. From first years, even.

“Objectively?” Akaashi asks. He considers for a moment. “Yes, Kuroo is conventionally attractive.”

“ _What_?” Bokuto twists around to stare at him, looking aghast. “You think Kuroo is hot?”

“I said conventionally attractive. Hot is subjective.”

“Those girls probably think he’s hot,” Bokuto grumbles. As he folds his arms, a scowl paints itself across Bokuto’s face. “I mean, yeah, okay, fine, I can see it. If I squint maybe. And sort of turn my head like this.”

Having already turned back to his book, Akaashi doesn’t notice anything odd until a few minutes of silence pass by. He’s about to ask, suspicious, what mischief Bokuto is cooking up in his mind but stops when he catches sight of Bokuto–

Staring openly across the gymnasium, jaw slack and looking almost wistful.

At this point, there’s really no need to confirm exactly who Bokuto is staring at. If Akaashi were the dramatic type, he’d probably slap his own forehead in exasperation. Maybe a little disbelief. Even so, a part of himself feels faint pang of sympathy.

Akaashi relents. Perhaps a gentle, albeit more pointed nudge in the right direction wouldn’t hurt after all. “Maybe should you ask–” he says, keeping his voice quiet.

But Bokuto straightens up, waves a hand at Akaashi in a vague hushing motion and pulls a smile back on as another student walks up to Bokuto’s stall and shyly drops a coin in the donation jar. It’s a sweet kiss this time, and Bokuto cups her jaw with his hand before pressing his lips to her cheek for a soft peck. She touches her cheek, and Bokuto grins, wriggling his fingers as she walks away.

Then Bokuto slides down a little, propping his chin upon his hands with elbows resting on the stall, as he resumes staring out across the gymnasium.

–--

“This is annoying,” Kuroo suddenly says and Kenma looks up reluctantly, tearing his eyes away from his game.

They’re sitting up against the wall of the gymnasium now, in a relatively quiet corner. Kenma had retreated there in hopes of being left undisturbed, but then Kuroo had sidled up to him in a strange, contemplative silence, after he’d managed to shake off the giggling first years.

“What is?” Kenma says, when it’s obvious that Kuroo isn’t about to say anything more.

Kuroo purses his lips and Kenma resists the urge to immediately turn back to the screen. He’s paused it anyway, the screen frozen on his avatar with its sword in mid-swing. His fingers are hovering over the buttons, ready to resume. All of a sudden, Kuroo turns to him, an abrupt twist as he levels a stare at Kenma. The gaze is considering, thoughtful and a little distant. As if he’s not quite looking at Kenma, but caught somewhere else entirely.

“Do you think,” Kuroo tries before pausing. He drums his fingers into his arm. “Bokuto is kinda popular, isn’t he. Is it because he’s cool, or is he cool because he’s popular?”

Kenma stares back, nonplussed.

“Weird question, never mind,” Kuroo mutters. He turns back to watch the kissing booth across on the other side of the gymnasium, lips still pursed.

But then Kenma notices. Every now and then, Kuroo’s head tips forward, unconsciously, and his fingers pluck at the too-wide shoulder seam of the shirt. This goes on for a few minutes, pluck and release, pluck and release–

“Kuro. You keep fidgeting with the shirt,” Kenma says, and Kuroo starts, apparently surprised.

“Huh? Oh, it kinda smells like Bokuto’s deodorant.” Kuroo answers idly, still staring across the room. “It’s a bit distracting.”

That seems to be a good sign as any for Kenma to opt out of this conversation. He glances back down at his screen, swiping a thumb over the play button to unpause.

“I mean, Bokuto’s captain. It makes him look cool. Maybe not senpai cool, but, y’know. Captain cool,” Kuroo muses. He pushes himself against the wall, obviously thinking hard. “But that means he’s got captain qualities. First summer camp he was just an idiot, but I remember that one time in second year when he helped Kai with spiking–”

Kenma doesn’t bother replying. Somehow, that only seems to encourage Kuroo’s sudden self-reflection.

“–so obviously, lots of people admire Bokuto, yeah? Nothing weird about admiring him–”

Kuroo cuts himself off with an odd noise, almost frustration. Kenma risks a quick glance to survey the situation, just as the final boss rears up on Kenma’s screen. Ah. There’s another girl at Bokuto’s stall.

It was only a matter of time before the coin dropped, Kenma supposes. Metaphorically, at least. Literally if they’re lucky.

“Is he cooler than me though? I’m captain too, maybe not of a hotshot team like Fukurodani but hey, we do pretty alright–”

Kenma rapidly thumbs over the directional cross, jabbing his thumbs down at intervals.

There’s a faint hint of hesitance in Kuroo’s voice, as if he’s talking more to himself than Kenma, when he asks in a distant voice, “–reckon he thinks I’m cool too?” and that’s it. Kenma sets down the PSP on the hardwood floor with an irritated clatter, glares at Kuroo until he apparently feels the heat and glances back, looking alarmed. “What–”

“Why don’t. You ask _Bokuto-san_. For a turn?” Kenma enunciates, as clearly as he possibly can. He waits until Kuroo’s brow furrows, then he pointedly picks up his game and unpauses for the umpteenth time today.

Kuroo lapses back into silence at that point. Another few taps and victory scrolls across Kenma’s screen, in a gaudy flapping banner.

Just as well; Kenma all but hears the ticking in Kuroo’s brain, as the older boy works to figure it out. Moments later, the metaphorical  _click_ of a puzzle piece finally sliding into place makes itself known with a sudden sharp inhale, and Kuroo’s quiet,

“ _Oh_.”

–--

There’s only a few stragglers left at Fukurodani now; the Summer Fair had all but closed up, and those with the foresight to bring an umbrella were now in popular demand. Rain is still pelting down outside; if Akaashi were at home, studying, the soft noise of the downpour might’ve helped him concentrate. As his situation stands now though, being within a few metres radius of one Bokuto Koutarou, concentration is not really an option.

It doesn’t help that the customers to their kissing booth had dwindled down to one in the last fifteen minutes. Suffice to say, Bokuto Koutarou has been rendered bored and a bored Bokuto is a dangerous one.

“Akaashi. Akaashi, please, can I go?” Bokuto whines, slumped over the tabletop. “Toilet break. Lunch break! Can I just  _go_?”

“Bokuto-san, you are the captain,” Akaashi repeats patiently, possibly for the fourth time this hour. “You can’t leave until everyone else leaves.”

“But I’m bored,” Bokuto argues. His stomach grumbles loudly. “And hungry,” he adds, as if it weren’t obvious.

“It’s just another half hour.” With this round over, Akaashi flicks the page and stares down at the text and formulae. Wills himself to concentrate without being distracted by Bokuto again, at least until he finishes reading the first paragraph. He manages to get half way through, before he hears Bokuto’s surprised voice calling out,

“Yo, Kuroo, what’s up?”

Concentrate, Akaashi tells himself. He tightens his grip on the highlighter. Concentrate.

“Business looks kinda slow,” comes Kuroo’s voice, his tone cajoling.

“Right? And Akaashi won’t let me leave too. Wanna get dinner after, or something?”

A pause. Concentrate, Akaashi repeats to himself. Just another few hundred words.

“Yeah, sure. Though hear me out first, I wanna test a theory–”

Alright, Akaashi gives up. He sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye. From what he can see, Bokuto is still slouched over his stall, though looking decidedly more interested now. Kuroo stands on the other side, one hip jutting out with his arms folded, and a rather odd gleam in his eye.

“A theory?” Bokuto quips. He straightens up slightly, curiosity piqued. “What kind of theory?”

Kuroo shifts, brings his hand on top of the counter and sets his closed fist down gently. Then Akaashi hears a clatter, the unmistakable sound of coins dropping onto the wooden tabletop of the stall. When Kuroo pulls back his hand, he leaves a small pile of coins.

More than enough for a few kisses, Akaashi realises, staring blankly at the sight.

Bokuto starts back, confused. “What’s this for? Spare change?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Kuroo mutters under his breath, shaking his head. He raises his voice a little, grinning at Bokuto. “Nah, dude. I’m buying a kiss.”

“A kiss,” Bokuto echoes, sounding more and more confused. “What? Why?”

Kuroo exhales, long-suffering. “You know, you could probably outdo Konoha’s jar with this. Just give us a kiss.”

Bokuto blinks. He glances over at Konoha’s unoccupied stall, where his collection jar sits, nearly full. Then glances back to his own, eyeballing the difference in coin level. “Huh,” he says, as the realisation dawns. “Well, yeah okay. If you want, I guess. C’mere.”

Without any preamble, Bokuto reaches out across the stall to slide a palm across Kuroo’s cheek, threading his fingers through unruly hair. He lets his thumb rest on Kuroo’s cheekbone, brushing over the skin once, then Bokuto leans forward to place a gentle kiss on Kuroo’s lips.

The contact barely lasts more than a few seconds (though possibly a touch longer than Bokuto’s usual kisses, Akaashi notes). Bokuto pulls away in a slight daze, blinking.

Kuroo too, looks a little surprised. One of his hands twitch, as if he were about to touch his lips but instead, Kuroo manages to school his expression into a self-satisfied grin. “Not bad,” he says. “Would solicit again. Thanks. Think I figured out my theory.”

Then Kuroo ambles off, hands shoved deep in his now empty pockets as he heads out of the gymnasium doors. Bokuto turns to Akaashi, expression oddly queasy.

“Akaashi,” he says, then pauses. “Kuroo just kissed me.”

“He did,” Akaashi says. “Well, actually, you did.”

“I liked it,” Bokuto says, sounding horrified. His voice seems to have gone half an octave higher.

Akaashi hums. Bokuto doesn’t move. One last nudge can’t hurt, Akaashi supposes, and he opens his mouth ready to suggest that Bokuto follow after Kuroo.

But Bokuto beats him to the punch, as he blurts out, “Sorry, I gotta test a theory.” Then he runs out of the gymnasium, barely managing to skid around the corner of his stall.

–--

“Wait– hey, wait, Kuroo!”

Under the umbrella, and walking across the Fukurodani walkway towards the school entrance, Kenma pauses when Kuroo does, unwilling to step out into the rain. Abruptly, Kuroo shoves the end of the umbrella into his hands, muttering, “Hold this for a sec–” before he steps out into the light dizzle.

Kenma clutches the umbrella, bemused but altogether faintly glad that he’d decided to keep his PSP in his bag while they were leaving.

“You can’t just– you can’t just leave like that,” Bokuto protests, hands on his knees. “That’s not fair!”

“I did pay. Fair and square,” Kuroo says, his tone clearly amused. He walks out to meet Bokuto halfway, hands in his pockets in the way Kenma recognises as Kuroo’s attempt to hide his nervousness.

Is this the moment, Kenma wonders, squinting through the rainfall.

“Yeah but– that’s not the point,” Bokuto argues, but his indignation is weak. He straightens up and glares at Kuroo. Then he folds his arms. Unfolds them. Folds them again. “Aww, man,” he says, shoulders hunching as he despairs a little. “I can’t do this.”

Even Kuroo looks a little confused at this point. The rain is soaking through his hair, plastering it flat against his neck, and his voice falters as he asks, “Do what–”

But then Kenma sees Bokuto clench his fists. Watches Bokuto jerk his head down in a firm nod, before striding up to Kuroo in a few determined steps that crunch across the wet gravel.

“I think,” Bokuto says, interrupting Kuroo in a loud voice. “I think I like you. And we should kiss again. Now, probably. For real.” Somehow, his hands find their way to join between Kuroo’s neck and his shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“Sounds like good idea to me,” comes Kuroo’s voice, sounding strangely soft. Amusement colours his tone, as he repeats, only half joking, “Yeah. For real.”

Then Bokuto leans in again, stretching up just slightly to reach–

Kenma glances away, caught somewhere between embarrassment and feeling oddly pleased. He can offer them a little privacy, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Now that reveals are up, I just wanted to say a huge thank you to [keptein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein) and [auber_jean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/auber_jean). Their input was invaluable and this fic would've never gotten off the ground without them -- you guys are amazing, thank you.


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